It's four in the morning and I can't get my fan to stop oscillating. I need all of it's mighty fan powers concentrated on me, and not hopelessy oscillating around my gigantic empty room.

Received a package from the pappy this morning and was quite pleased with the array of stamps on the box (Lincoln Memorial, a red fox (not the black dude from Sanford and Son, but the furry feline) and the American Kestral.

So I am just (straight) decompressing after a cordial chat with my roommate in which I expressed my concern and unhappiness with the revolving door of people who seem to be staying in our apartment. Currently it is the demure and submissive Thai girlfriend who services him nightly (surprisingly loudly). This is her second tour of duty in the casa de Whitey. She earns her keep by cooking him lavish buffet style meals of fried chicken and watermelon (--perhaps she has mistaken his pale visage and portly frame for an albino African American?) and cleaning the lavatory thrice daily. Can't say that I am pleased with this arrangement, and no it is not born out of jealousy or horniness, simply by my desire to feel like my apartment is my own sanctuary. Pleased with the way I handled it, though her latest stint will no doubt make me increasingly uncomfortable and hostile.
Ah, L'Amour.

Giants- Stop choking.
Zach- fly far from Sweeden and come to Korea's warm, ample bosom of dog-eaters and drunks.
Fan- stop oscillating